In My Own Two Hands

FridaySaturdaySundayMondayTuesday....Wednesday. The days run together, outpace me to the point of lapping me. (Wait, did Tuesday just pass me again?)

Take for instance, these pictures I've been meaning to post, from strawberry picking on Monday. As in the 10-days-ago-Monday.

I see a bit of myself in one of the earliest definitions of the word "crazy". To be full of cracks or flaws, unsound. On the verge of cracking or breaking.

When I say my life is crazy right now, that's how I feel. On the verge of cracking. Barely keeping afloat. And in response, I tie my fragile and flurried existence to a handful of beautiful, buoyed moments. Moments that remind me of how my true wealth is this moment, this hour, this day.

  • Walking out of the turnpike service plaza with a child on either side, locking fingers, swinging arms, singing loudly, changing the lyrics to "With My Own Two Hands" to make them giggle. When the laughter--especially my own--is unforced and unabashed, in the middle of a 12 hour road trip, in the middle of a dingy rest stop, it is the stuff of miracles. (p.s. I owe Ben Harper an apology for the reference about flushing the "automagic" potty with my own two hands.)
  • Scrambling to get out of the house for a last minute showing and ending up with PB&Js in hand, snacking under the shadow of the Portland Head Light. Fragments of blue sky and saltwater floating by us in the breeze. Boats sailing by us, squirrels rummaging around us. My two babies announcing the every move of the Daddy Squirrel, the Mommy Squirrel, and the Baby Squirrel. How they boil everything they encounter in the world back to their sense of family. How they remind me to do the same.
I will not succumb to the crazy. I will not crack or fall apart.

Even as the days outpace me, even as the list grows longer and my reserve grows shorter, I will not drown in the stress.

Because I hold all that matters, these buoys amidst the storm of change, the wealth of this day.
In my own two hands.

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